Mirror Week Day One
by gayle dayle bayle
Summary: Prompt - First Meeting. Allen and Alfred meet in a coffee shop. Not romantic.


America - Alfred F. Jones

2p America - Allen P. Jones

2p England - Oliver Kirkland

England - Arthur Kirkland

2p Canada - James

They were kept separate, for the most part. The representatives, that is.

Most governments chose the one that suited them best as some sort of public face. A few rose to the position without their promotion, or were simply found first.

No matter the reason, one of them had been chosen to be the sole political representative of their country. The other three? Left to the shadows of history.

If they were lucky, these unfortunates would be left to pull strings thinner than spider's thread. If they weren't - and most weren't - then they were left to rot. Literally, in more than a few cases.

Many political representatives didn't meet their counterparts until the late twentieth or early twenty-first centuries, and those meetings were seldom arranged by their government. Take, for example, the meeting of Alfred F. Jones and his oft overlooked counterpart, Allen P. Jones. Their meeting had been arranged by Alfred's older brother, Arthur Kirkland – political representative of England – and Oliver Kirkland, Allen's father and one of the other representatives of England.

The girls are a story for another time, and it is to this meeting that we now turn our attention.

It took place in a coffee shop-café sort of place in a pleasant little city near the capital. Allen arrived before Alfred and sat at the window, content to observe. It was 12:00 pm precisely, and Allen had arrived exactly on time, as always.

In the centre of the café stood a high table, occupied by a pair of schoolgirls. Allen decided that the younger of the two would most likely get along with Oliver, at least judging by her fall-themed wardrobe choices.

There were several students positioned around the café, textbooks and computers and empty coffee cups and highlighters and sticky notes piled around them. They were most likely highschool seniors, as there were very few college students in town.

Alfred jogged down the sidewalk, breathing heavily. He was late to meet Allen, and that was a _terrible_ first impression.

Alfred didn't lend any thought to it, but this was hardly his first impression on Allen, or even his second or third or fourth.

Allen had been in the shadows nearly his entire life, watching. Alfred, on the other hand, had been the one _being_ watched.

He paused outside the café, hands on his knees and head bent down.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw a flash of color. Glancing up, he saw a gay pride flag hanging in the window, rainbow colors a bright and welcome contrast to the green-brown-beige-grey of the café and surrounding shops and parking lot.

Alfred walked into the café, the bell ringing out overhead. He held the door open for a little girl running past him before ordering a cupcake and a muffin from the bored-looking teenager behind the counter who informed him that his order would be ready in a few minutes.

He glanced around, looking for Allen. Where _was_ he? Ah, there in the corner under the pride flag.

It was only when Allen lazily waved at him that Alfred realized that the other had been watching him from the moment he entered the building. The knowledge sent a shiver down Alfred's spine.

Allen set his hands down and started picking at the tips of his fingers.

Alfred sat down across from him, the same teen from the counter bringing his cupcake over with a clatter of dish-on-table a few seconds later.

He stared at the empty spot in front of Allen. "Did you not order anything?" he asked.

Allen glanced up at him, laying his hands flat on the table before he began to drum them rhythmically. "Nah, I'm vegan, and I'm not hungry anyways."

Alfred did a double-take. Allen certainly didn't _look_ like the sort to be vegan…

"Let me guess. You're skeptical because I don't look like someone who would start preaching about how the meat industry is evil and why you shouldn't use any animal products in your everyday life at all because it must be killing animals somehow if you get it from them, right?" Allen said, leaning back in his chair languidly.

That was true, at the very least - he didn't look like a stereotypical vegan. With his black leather jacket, ear piercing, dark sunglasses, stained shirt, and jeans ripped as if he'd gotten into a fight with a stray cat, Allen most certainly did not look the part.

"But like, why?" Alfred asked as the waiter placed his cup of hot cocoa down with a clatter.

"Oh. That," Allen wrinkled his nose and waved his hand in front of his face as if clearing away a bad smell. "I used to work in the meatpacking industry a while back, before the reform. You know how it was, it really turns you away from the stuff, right?" a pause. "Besides, it really gets under James's skin."

Allen smirked to himself as Alfred fidgeted guiltily, staring into his cup.

It wasn't much of a cup, really more of a small ceramic bowl with a handle, but that's irrelevant.

Allen knew why Alfred looked so awkward right now. He, in fact, didn't "know how it was." Not from firsthand experience, anyways.

As the one chosen to publicly represent America (the country), Alfred had never had to work jobs like that. He'd never been stuck in a sweatshop, or crammed into a room with a hundred other people behind locked doors to sew shirts, or swallow uranium hundreds of times a day. Alfred had never had to see a child nearly hack their lungs out or be smothered with hot coal.

Allen no longer harboured any bitterness towards Alfred for this, and neither did the girls, but it was still fun to see him squirm.

"Anyways. You're late. What kept you?" Allen asked.

"Huh?" Alfred looked up, seeming almost surprised. "Oh, the old church. It's just… it's been a while. A lot has changed, and I guess I just lost track of time looking around, or something."

Allen nodded in sympathy. Similar things had happened to him before. He could only imagine what it would be like for those such as Oliver, with such long histories littering their land.

The pair fell into an awkward silence.

Alfred observed Allen out of the corner of his eye. The light from the window, tinted by the flag fell across his face, covering him almost entirely in red.

Alfred couldn't decide if it made him lok bathed in warmth or if it made Allen look vaguely sinister.

"So what do you like to do for fun?" Alfred asked.

"Oh, you know," Allen waved him off. "Stuff."

"Well that's specific," Alfred said.

That surprised Allen. The sarcasm. It wasn't something he expected from who was supposed to be America's golden boy.

Maybe he should be taking him more seriously.

"Anyways. I like sports and videogames and dogs and food and slacking off work," Alfred said cheerily.

Then again, Allen thought, maybe he shouldn't.

"...I do volunteer work," Allen mumbled.

"Dude! That's awesome! What kind do you do?" Alfred asked loudly.

"Um," Allen paused. He didn't know what he'd expected, but this wasn't it. "Helping the homeless, mostly."

From there the conversation flowed much more smoothly. Alfred talked about _his_ volunteer work (litter pick-ups and helping animal shelters), before they moved on to what they both liked to read (Alfred liked scientific publications, saying it was nice to remind himself of how far they'd come. Allen would read just about anything but liked history best. He said it was interesting to see how events were interpreted by those who hadn't lived through them.)

It wasn't until the sun was shining directly in Alfred's eyes that they realized hours had passed.

Pulling his phone out, Alfred yelped. "Oh god, it's six o'clock, I need to run," he said.

Allen checked his watch and had a similar reaction. "Fuck, I gotta go," he said as he hurriedly pulled his things together.

Allen had promised his – their? – sisters that he would meet them _hours_ ago.

"Wait – here," Allen said, shoving a crumpled up napkin into Alfred's hands before he was gone, door slamming behind him and bell tinkling cheerily.

Alfred unfurled the napkin to see a ten digit string of numbers scrawled sloppily in blue pen accompanied by a simple "call me."

Maybe he would. Maybe, maybe...

 **A/N: Sooo sorry for being inactive lately!**


End file.
